Adaption
by Queerasil
Summary: John has always been a bit of a copy-cat.


"Why would I be like everyone else when I can be like you?"

…

John Watson has always been a little bit of a copy-cat.

...

It started in primary school when Blake Edwards punched him in the face. John, being an unusually kind and gentle boy at the time, punched him back.

From then, John was a badass; tough, smooth, and in control.

...

The next time it happened was in uni, when he (accidentally) started dressing like his sister. (Did he mention it was accidental?)

...

John liked to think of it as a kind of adaption; a way to prevent his inevitable extinction and prolong his awesome life. It had the unexpected side-effect of making him nearly indestructible.

It seemed whatever happened, come hell or high-water, John could adapt and survive.

Until, of course, the inevitable cataclysm that is Sherlock Holmes stormed into his life.

Sherlock shows up, with his tight shirts and well-pressed suits and his wildly curled hair, and John can't help being envious. There he is, the _old_ John Watson; the same John he's been for the last two-months.

_Well_, John reminded himself. _Everything is subject to change._

_..._

Sherlock didn't notice when John's hair was a little curlier, his clothes were a little tighter, and he was a little smarter the next morning.

Change is gradual. Change is slow; taking place over time. Change is patient.

At least, that's what Change was supposed to be.

John knew Change far better than that. He knew Change to be cold, harsh, sudden, unpredictable yet persistent. This would always change, but you would never know when.

...

John + curling iron = laughable disaster.

If Sherlock noticed, he didn't say anything. John didn't know how his flatmate, the _detective_, didn't. John was sure the light brown (burnt) singes that now scorched his hair would draw some form of notice from his flatmate. Nope. Not a whiff, not a hint, not a comment, or a gesture, or even so much as raised every brow in reaction.

The sweaters gradually disappeared. Tight, button-up, expensive and rich fabrics took their place. John gorged himself on deep colors and soft tones and soft textures.

If Sherlock noticed, he didn't say a thing.

...

John skipped the occasional meal now and then. It was no big deal. Sherlock did it, and he always got on fine. John would get on fine too, once he got used to it. (At least, that's what he told himself.)

If Sherlock noticed, he didn't say a thing.

...

John read a few pages of the dictionary every night before going to bed. He wanted to expand his vocabulary; to be able to say words like 'audacious' and 'superfluous' and actually know what they meant.

When he finished the dictionary, he moved onto to classical literature, then psychology, then history, then physics.

John quoted _The Odyssey_ once on a case. He hoped Sherlock would notice.

He didn't.

...

John hasn't ate for three days; neither has Sherlock. Both men are exhausted; burnt out on a case that they'll never solve in their current state. Sherlock pleads for John to eat something, but John insists he won't until Sherlock does.

Sherlock sighs and stares up at the ceiling despondently. "I know what you're doing, John."

John pretends not to hear him. He absentmindedly starts arranging crime scene photos, hoping his flatmate will leave it alone.

Sherlock, of course, continues. "I don't want to be with myself; I hate myself. I love you. The you you."

John wasn't quite sure what to say to this. The old, real, original, first model John had been lost ages ago. He was buried deep underneath all the other Johns like the center of the bloody earth. John doesn't look back at him; just stares at the wall as he speaks. "I'm sorry."

Sherlock stands up abruptly, closing the space between them in a few steps. Sherlock looks down at him, their faces inches apart. Sherlock's pupils are deleted, his pulse is elevated, he's slightly sweaty. (John can deduce too.)

Sherlock's eyes pleading, whispers, "Don't be sorry. Just be you."

John smiles.


End file.
